Belonging
by Emerald Embers
Summary: Sometimes, it's the thought that counts. Collector Manikin/Naoki


It still didn't feel real. Monsters the world over bowed to him or scuttled away in fear. He'd destroyed Kagutsuchi, defeated Lucifer, and for some odd reason the only memory that came to mind was when he had come second in his year at school in maths, a subject he'd thought himself decent at but not brilliant. The sense of unreality, the sense that someone had got confused somewhere and not told him the truth - it was alienating.

Not that the company he kept helped. Many of his demons had left to pursue their own quests, Dante still looking for a way to retrieve Vergil from the underworld, Scathach heading off to monitor Cu Chulainn's progress, and those who stayed seemed to be remaining only on account of fear or boredom. No one acted surprised when he cast them aside, explained away his dismissal as 'a touch of the divine is enough to make anyone arrogant', but he'd only wanted time to think, time to let reality sink in and to _deal_.

Truth be told, he hadn't expected company in the hospital. The lesser demons had scattered speedily at the very hint of his presence and he'd been careful to avoid lost human spirits. He'd watched the world end from here, been born half and reborn a full demon on its grounds, and oddly enough the thought of being where the world had ended wasn't as depressing as being where he'd killed Chiaki and Isamu, despite what they had become. Even if he'd been inclined towards expecting company it would have been Dante he'd have thought of first purely because the demon-hunter was so obstinate. It simply hadn't occurred to him to think of another creature in the circular world with the same determination to always go about his own business.

The Collector peeked around the door - or, at least, seemed to be peeking; with its eyes covered it was hard to tell. "Hi!" arms laden with plastic bags full of boxes and equipment stolen from the hospital store cupboards appeared next as it shuffled awkwardly around the door. "Uh, what are you doing here?"

Naoki had come very close to asking the same thing some time ago when he'd come to Kabuchiko Prison in search of the manikins' leader and found the Collector spread-eagled and somewhat embarrassed-looking in one of the cells. The fact the Collector hadn't looked as much afraid as it looked caught was something that stole his attention in particular at the time.

"Is it being in charge? Futomimi didn't mind but I bet it's hard work." It stood there a moment longer, mouth half open, before scurrying over and dropping the bags at Naoki's side, rooting through and pulling out an inhaler. "What does this do?"

As distractions went it was clumsy and simple, but sometimes, it's the thought that counts.

Naoki tapped the Collector on the shoulder and started to mimic hyperventilating, took the inhaler out of its box, and demonstrated how to breathe in the contents of one before showing the instructive images in the box's pamphlet, how they were just drawings of the process.

He should have known he was asking for trouble with that, but there was something infectious about the Collector's enthusiasm even when it meant narrowly avoiding an injection of goodness knew what after going through instructions in another manual. Rather weirdly he had suspicions that the medicines were long ago expired despite it only feeling like weeks since everything started.

Naoki wasn't much for talking under normal circumstances, but what were those anyway these days? "Why do you collect this stuff?"

"It's interesting," the Collector began, starting to look more than a little awkward. "I don't remember much and you've been too busy to ask, so -"

"Ask away."

The Collector nodded, lifting up a corner of its robe and pulling out a remarkably dusty packet of cigarettes. "These. What are they for?"

Naoki froze before he could take the packet from the Collector, suddenly hit by the realisation he hadn't craved one in all this time, not even now he'd been presented with them. "They're not for anything. Humans used to smoke them to look cool -" and when had 'humans' replaced 'we' in his thoughts? "But all they really did was make people sick."

The Collector nodded, tilted his head toward the ceiling, and Naoki felt strangely lonely without them focused on himself. "Aren't hospitals for making people better?"

"Yeah, but -"

"Is that why you're here? To get better?"

Naoki felt something click into place. "I was looking for something."

"Like I do?"

"Yeah."

It didn't seem alarmed when he kissed it, trying to get used to the sandy texture of manikin skin. He'd been changed from what he was, everything he'd known and loved taken away or broken, and no one had been able to guide him into fixing himself. But he hadn't been ready to fix - even as a human he'd needed someone to grab him and shake him, to say 'this is what you should care about'.

How was he meant to get emotions back when he'd not _felt_ in... cycles? Years? Starting small seemed best. Starting with something he liked.

"Is that a human thing?" asked the Collector on pulling back, pressing pretty fingers to its lips. Naoki knew that for all the charisma of Futomimi, Sakahagi, Dante, it was the Collector that he _liked_.

"I hope so."

.

The End


End file.
